The words I say aloud, within and to myself:
Little drops that fill my oceans,
Little grains that build my world,
Molecules making up my entire reality.
Thus every moment of the day,
I say this, that, and every other
About everything that’s me and not me
In a never ending argument,
A storyline that tells a picture –
The story of my life.
Over the years, in sheer persistence,
Something inside me keeps on and on
This very detailed creation,
Piece by piece of everything about me.
Whether I am aware of it or not,
Do it on purpose or not,
It happens nevertheless . . .
Because the building is also the circumscribing –
Superficial, deep, significant or not,
Or even simply, utterly mediocre –
As these words constantly define my universe.
Each little self talk I engage in
Is actually more like self-instruction
Convincing me of what I consider myself to be,
What I want, what I must have,
What to choose, accept, relish, reject;
What I take as good or bad for me;
What or who I love or hate;
What I must work towards come what may,
Or else away from;
To chase, to run;
To do, or not to do,
Which comes first, and which comes next,
And which can wait how long;
What to say in joy or pain,
Alone or not,
What to see, or hear, or feel,
My self-talk: my self-instruction, self-construction . . .
And also my own self-destruction –
Inevitably, inexorably, propelling me into
One kind of limited existence or another.
What salvation comes with knowledge?
Should I then not at once be self aware,
Acknowledging this awesome power of my word,
Respecting it as God-given –
And knowing the unearthly effect that it has on me,
Would I not rather that my words
Propel me on towards my paradise,
More and more making my self-talk
A long continuous prayer:
Words directing every thought of mine
To the only Word that can define
A wondrous reality
For all eternity.
from word verses 101111